So clearly, I have not been the only one hunkering down at some point or another this winter.

If January had a cheerleading squad, it would be chanting over and over again:

“Brr! It’s cold in here! I said there must be some Toros in the atmosphere!”

Yes, that’s right — I just quoted a cheer from “Bring It On,” a movie I haven’t watched since at least 2005. That’s how cold it has been this winter. When your brain starts pulling out early-2000s movie quotes unprompted, you know the chill has settled in deep.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about leaning into the winter escape of binge-watching — long nights, extra blankets, one more episode that turns into three. This article circles the same theme, but takes a very different approach. Or so I thought–after reading it to my husband, he missed the point entirely. I promise, it’s clarified by the end, and I’m not that existential.

If you recall, I’ve been making some shifts in my life lately — whether they were forced or chosen, here we are. For a long time, my days started the moment my eyes opened, work already running through my head before my feet hit the floor. And I won’t pretend that’s disappeared entirely. My mind still moves fast, and sometimes the only way to quiet it is to get everything out. Running and yoga have helped with that, giving me space to step away. But recently, before the clock strikes 9 a.m., you’d find me doing something new: reading fiction. An activity I once reserved strictly for evenings, saved as a reward after a full day of checking boxes and getting things done.

I’m an avid reader, but with rules. Nonfiction is always on audio. Fiction is always in my hands.

I think it’s because when it comes to nonfiction, I want the author to speak to me — like I’m sitting in a lecture hall, listening, absorbing, letting their voice guide the information. It’s structured. Directed. Efficient.

But fiction? Fiction is different.

With fiction, I want my mind to create the visuals. The voices. The settings. I want to decide how a character sounds when they speak, how a room feels when someone enters it, how the silence lands between sentences. It’s freeing — and admittedly, somewhat empowering. You have a say in the narrative. You’re not just consuming the story; you’re co-creating it.

Which is why, in most cases, the book really is better than the movie — no matter how Hollywood frames it.

Most of the time.

There have been exceptions. Sorry, Fifty Shades.

Anyway.

Something occurred to me recently as I started incorporating fiction into my mornings instead of saving it only for evenings. Before I read a single word of a chapter, I flip through the pages. Every time.

I don’t skim. I don’t read ahead. I just need to know… where the end is.

The funny thing is, the length of the chapter doesn’t actually matter. Long or short, I’ll read it either way. But I have this inveterate need to know where it ends before I begin.

Which, of course, made me pause.

Is this one of those many ways I need control? Or at least, as some outsiders might say about me. Is it a “strong-willed” thing? A planning thing? A managing-expectations thing?

Or is it simply comfort?

I don’t think it’s about controlling the story. I’m not trying to change the outcome or rush it along. I don’t want spoilers. I just want to understand the container I’m stepping into. To know how much emotional energy I’m committing before I begin.

And that doesn’t feel like control to me. It feels like care.

I think sometimes we confuse the need for comfort with the need for control. We label behaviors instead of understanding them. We decide what something “means” without asking why it exists in the first place.

Some would say this is the difference between a reason and an excuse. And I think that distinction depends entirely on who’s giving it — and who’s receiving it — not on the action itself.

For me, knowing where the chapter ends doesn’t take away from the story. It lets me settle in. It lets me stay present. It lets me enjoy the journey instead of bracing myself for it.

And maybe that’s what winter, or any season we might find ourselves in, has been asking of all of us: not to push through, but to find small comforts that help us stay with what’s in front of us.

So, from me to you — if you have any book recommendations, send them my way. Fiction especially. The only genre I haven’t really gotten into, ironically, is autobiography.

But if you’ve got a good one, I’m open.

After all, I like knowing where things end — but I still love getting lost along the way.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.